


A Stolen Jacket. A Stolen Friend.

by LadyAnneNeville



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: (very mild) canon divergence, Aftermath of Torture, Canon Divergence, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e23 Spartacus, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Matthew Casey, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Missing Scene, Whump, Worried Kelly Severide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28093452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAnneNeville/pseuds/LadyAnneNeville
Summary: Takes place across the end of season 3 and very beginning of season 4. A very whumpy take on how Matt Casey's abduction by the gang who run Stilettos could have gone. Focusing on the friendship between Casey and Severide.There is an appearance by a character from Chicago PD but the focus is on the Chicago Fire gang and there is no need to be familiar with Chicago PD to understand the story.
Relationships: Matthew Casey & Kelly Severide, Wallace Boden & Kelly Severide, Wallace Boden & Matthew Casey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter One

Severide stumbled in through the door at 2am, it had been a good night at Molly’s, then again most nights at Molly’s were good. Truck and Squad had basically ignored each other but as frustrating as that was he knew Otis would back off eventually and see what a great guy Rice was.

He was not expecting Casey to be up. Casey had had a meeting for the strip club construction project he was doing, and being the more responsible one of the pair Severide had fully expected Casey to be in bed so he was well rested for tomorrow. He noticed Casey sat on their sofa, leaning back, with an empty whiskey glass in one hand. The bottle on the table was a lot less full than it had been the last time Severide saw it.

“Hey, Casey.” He greeted, figuring he would just get some water and go to bed. Casey didn’t respond, which annoyed Severide. First the younger lieutenant had thrown that line about Darden at him and now he was refusing to speak, that was just childish. Severide huffed and started drinking his water, he turned around to look at his friend and paused at what he saw.

Casey looked as though he was a million miles away and hadn’t even heard him.

“Casey, you in there bud?” He asked a little more loudly. Casey jerked with surprise and seemed to come back to himself. He glanced at his empty whiskey tumbler and set it down on the table.

“Severide, when did you get home?” 

“Just now. Are you okay?” A bad feeling grew in the pit of Severide’s stomach as he watched Casey scrub at his eyes with the heel of his hand and lean forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Honestly? No, I’m not okay.” Casey said. Severide now felt a lot more sober than he had a few minutes ago walking through the door, the pleasant buzz wearing off. He filled a second glass of water and placed it on the coffee table as he sat down on the sofa next to his friend, subtly nudging the whiskey bottle out of easy reach as he did so. It wasn’t Casey’s custom to drink away his problems so for him to have consumed so much was another red flag. The last time he’d turned to alcohol had been shortly before he and Dawson broke up.

“What’s going on?” Severide asked. Casey turned his head to look at him with deep, sorrowful eyes.

“You can’t tell anyone. If I tell you. You need to keep it to yourself.” Casey said.

“Okay.”

“I mean it, not even Voight or Antonio, they can’t know I told you.” Casey continued. Severide pulled back. 

“What the hell do Voight or Antonio have to do with this?” He asked.

“They wanted me to wear a wire. And I did, but I flushed it, and they would have probably killed me if I hadn’t.” Casey looked wrecked.

“Okay, you’re going to have to explain what’s going on from the beginning.” Severide said.

Haltingly Casey explained the whole sordid tale, how he was pretty sure he was in over his head but after Dawson came to him and explained how they were trafficking girls he felt he had no choice. Severide felt pissed off. It was certainly a worthy cause but for Casey to be feeling like this, like he had been pressured into it with insufficient back up, was infuriating.

“That’s rough man, are you sure it’s worth it.” Severide asked.

“They’re trafficking girls, Kelly. Whatever I’m feeling, if there’s a chance I could help bring them down I can’t back out now.” Casey threw his weight back into the cushions and threw a rueful look at his empty whiskey tumbler. 

“And what are you feeling?” Severide prompted. Casey smirked at him.

“Are you actually suggesting we talk about our feelings now?” 

“It’s not usual, but what else is being drunk at two in the morning for?” Severide threw back.

Casey was still, staring into the middle distance.

“It’s really morbid, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is the last week of my life.”

Severide felt a chill shoot down his spine. He didn’t believe in premonitions, he reminded himself, as he peeled himself and Casey off the sofa and prompted Casey to go to sleep. It was just a feeling, and didn’t mean anything at all.

It was harder to shut down the little voice in the back of his head that said gut feelings had saved him more often than he would like to admit.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Severide was at Molly’s with the rest of Firehouse 51, celebrating their escape from the enormous warehouse fire that almost claimed the lives of himself, Dawson, and their Chief.

He had called at texted Casey a bunch of times, worried that he hadn’t turned up, but also aware that Casey was not the most social of the house, and needed a decent amount of time to himself as well as socialising with other people. The situation with Rice was resolved and it looked like Firehouse 51 were on their way to being a united house again.

Then he noticed his jacket was missing. His favourite leather jacket that he wore all the time had been lifted, and worse it had his phone and keys in it, his wallet was still in his jeans pocket thankfully so at least he hadn’t lost his cards but he loved that jacket and he was really pissed off that it was missing.

He looked around the bar for it, irritated, and then Boden offered to drive him home.

“If Casey hasn’t come here then maybe he can let you in before he goes to sleep.” Was all Capp offered in explanation.

Severide brooded the entire car ride, the stress of the last few weeks wearing heavily on him, but it wasn’t until he got to the flat that he became worried.

The lack of answer and unlocked door were enough to give him a gnawing sense of foreboding, but nothing could have prepared him for what he found inside.

The tap was running, and on their kitchen floor was a dead blond girl. She had been shot once. Severide’s fear for Casey was all consuming, the drunken confession he had made the night before lingering in his mind. Boden was on the phone in the background, probably speaking to Voight or Antonio but he couldn’t take anything in, he was just staring at the girl. He wondered if this was the Katya, who Casey had spoken about, he wondered why she was here, and what she had done that meant the gang wanted her dead. Boden placed his hand on Severide’s shoulder, bringing him back into the moment.

“The police have a pinging order on Casey’s phone, they’re tracing it now.” 

“What if they’re too late. What if they’ve already killed him.” It wasn’t like Severide to be so nihilistic but his last proper conversation with Matt had been a petty squabble in the Firehouse, a petty squabble that Severide had pushed despite knowing how much danger Matt was in.

“They wouldn’t take one body and leave the other. Casey left here alive. No other explanation makes sense. But now we have to wait and see what the police think. They’re sending two officers in the intelligence unit here now. We should move out the way and not touch anything.”

Erin and Atwater arrived with some uniformed officers and an ME arrived and began photographing and analysing the scene. Both he and Boden separately gave a statement. There wasn’t much to go off, not here, anyway. Some officers began canvassing the neighbours to see if they had heard anything.

Then Erin got a phone call that she stepped away to take. When she turned back the expression on her face was open.

“Have they found Casey?” Severide asked, urgently.

“I need to ask you some more questions.” Erin replied, not giving anything away. “The leather jacket that got stolen, could you describe it in more detail?”

“No offense, Erin, but I’m more worried about Casey than my jacket right now.” Severide said, his temper beginning to make an appearance.

“I need you to describe the jacket, Kelly.” So Severide described the jacket in more detail feeling incredibly helpless.

“What does my jacket have to do with anything?” He asked her. Erin wouldn’t reply immediately. Then she called over Chief Boden.

“I’m going to brief both of you together, but it is important that you keep the details of what has happened to yourselves. We will let you know how much you can share. We found Casey’s phone at the location it pinged from, but Casey wasn’t there. What we did find was the body of a man wearing your leather jacket, who matched you pretty exactly for height and build. Facially there were similarities but he was gagged and wearing a blindfold which would have blurred the differences. At this point our working theory is that the gang picked up someone who wouldn’t be missed, made him up to look like you, including the jacket and staged an execution to get Casey to cooperate.

“This is now officially a kidnapping case, and we’re pulling in a lot of resources to find Casey as we have no reason to believe that once he tells them what they want to know they would keep him alive. We’re looking for Jack Nesbitt and anyone else in the gang that’s known to us for more information.” Severide didn’t say a word in response, Boden placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“So what happens now?” Boden asked.

“The first twenty four hours are critical. We’re chasing down every hideout we’ve managed to link to the gang, however tenuously. We’re also going to pull in all the girls from the club and question them. The weird thing was we didn’t have enough evidence to bust the gang yet, we weren’t even particularly close, so why they would take Casey now is a little confusing. They may have figured out he was working with the police, or he may have discovered something recently that he didn’t get a chance to pass on to us.” Erin explained. She was keeping incredibly calm and professional which was both reassuring and infuriating.

“What can I do to help?” Severide asked.

“Unfortunately there’s nothing you can do to help except keep your head down and protect yourself from becoming a target for the group. I’m not going to lie to you, this gang is nasty, clever and well organised so when we get Casey back he’s going to need support so the best thing you can do is keep yourselves safe and as healthy as possible until that point so you can provide it. I’m sorry guys.” Erin offered up a sympathetic smile.

As highly trained first responders, Severide and Boden rarely felt completely helpless, but here they were. There was nothing at all that they could do.


	2. Powerless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was happening to Casey while chapter one took place. Warning for lots of whump in this chapter.

Casey was still in shock. With a handgun pressed to the back of his neck he had had little choice but to let the men bind his hands behind his back and place an opaque hood over his head. He had been taken to what he assumed was a van and pressed so he was sat on the floor, then they had attached something to his ankles.

He tried to keep track of where they were driving, the turns they were taking and how long between each one but he quickly lost track. When the van stopped around thirty minutes later he discovered the hard way that his ankles had been hobbled. Tied together with a short length of rope so that he could walk, but if he didn’t want to fall he would need to keep his steps short and controlled and there was no way he would be able to run.

He was pressed down into a chair and the hood was removed from his head. He was sitting in a large space, probably a disused warehouse stretching out maybe 40 meters in front of him. The chair was isolated but there was a table off to his left that was just a little too far back for him to comfortably see what was on it. He had enough sense not to shoot his mouth off immediately despite his anger and fear so the silence was tense for a moment before one of the men asked the question.

“Where’s Katya’s notebook?” Casey knew of the existence of the notebook, Katya had told him of it when she came to his place earlier, but she hadn’t told him where she had hidden it. She had been murdered before that could happen.

Casey hesitated a moment too long before answering and a fist made painful contact with his abdomen. The man who had asked the question gave an order to his friend in a language Casey couldn’t identify but had heard before from some of Jack Nesbitts business associates. He then returned his attention to Casey.

“Mr Casey, I think that either you do not realise how serious my colleagues and I are about finding the notebook or you are merely stupid. Either way, it is my job to loosen your tongue and extract accurate information, and believe me, you will give us that information one way or another. Whether or not you wish to walk away unharmed after providing it is up to you.”

Two men entered the far end of the warehouse dragging a third between them. The third was stumbling like he was concussed or drugged and was wearing a blindfold and a gag. Casey was petrified to see Severide here. When he had agreed to help the Intelligence unit he never once thought that he would be putting his best friend at risk. Severide was dressed in jeans and his favourite leather jacket as though they had picked him up from near Molly’s. They must have done something to him because there’s no way he would be kneeling there, swaying slightly if he was in full command of his faculties.

“Let him go, I haven’t told him anything, he has nothing to do with this.” Casey ordered, using his Lieutenant’s voice. The one who was doing all the talking was disconcertingly calm.

“I know he has nothing to do with this, but he means something to you, and that makes him valuable. So this is how it will go. You have two minutes to tell me where the notebook is, and if you have not done so, when the two minutes is up my colleagues will kill your friend.”

Matt was completely trapped. He didn’t know where the notebook was. If he made a guess and was wrong he hated to think what would happen. 

“Time’s halfway up.” The man said.

“She hid it behind her mirror in the dressing room at the club.” Casey yelled. He didn’t know if that was where the notebook actually was. He hoped it was, and he hoped it wasn’t. Honestly as sick as it made him he was willing to sacrifice key evidence of the human trafficking ring to save Severide’s life.

“Thank you Mr Casey.” The man said, and made a phone call in the same foreign language. When he hung up he returned his attention to Casey.

“The notebook is being retrieved now.” He announced.

“Let Severide go.” Matt demanded. The man laughed. 

“I don’t think so. Not yet at least. When my man calls back and confirms that the notebook is where you said it would be I will have Severide dropped off somewhere no worse for wear than he is now.” The man didn’t need to explain what would happen if the notebook was not where he had said. Casey had never felt so powerless in his entire adult life. He was trying to hide it but his fear must have shown on his face because something in the man’s expression hardened, he walked beyond Casey’s line of sight and stopped.

The seconds trickled by like hours. The only thing Casey could see, the only thing Casey could look at was the form of Severide, kneeling, facing away from Casey but his short salt and pepper hair and his leather jacket unmistakable as he was flanked by two large men holding guns.

An indeterminable amount of time later Casey heard the man speak again in the language. The conversation was short. He then called a few syllables to the other end of the warehouse then…

Severide was dead. 

It happened so quickly, a command and then one of the men had drawn his gun and sent a bullet through the back of Severide’s skull like it was nothing.

Like murdering one of the best men Casey had ever known, one of his oldest friends, was nothing at all. 

Severide was dead.

He felt cold.

He was shaking all over and his cheeks were wet.

Severide was dead.

They had murdered him.

They had killed him.

Casey had no answers for them. He didn’t know where Katya’s notebook was. He no longer believed he would live as long as the next day. 

Severide was dead.

Somehow that made the bleak reality of his own imminent death easier to bear. Somehow it made it okay.

He could have used all his knowledge of Katya and the club to try and find her notebook. He could have desperately tried to locate it to save the life of his friend.

These monsters had killed Severide. They were trafficking girls and who knew how many they had slaughtered.

If he was going to die anyway, and Casey didn’t doubt that the moment Katya’s notebook was found they would kill him, there was no way he was going to let one of his final acts in this world be betraying the life’s work of a woman he cared about.

All he had to do was hold out until morning.

The men who had been holding Severide hostage had now arrived at Casey’s end of the warehouse. Casey didn’t care. All he could do was stare at the intermittently blurry body of his best friend. Nothing mattered anymore.

Then someone spoke and he was jerked to his feet as his phone was removed from his pocket and thrown to the floor as someone smashed it with his foot.

He was punched in the jaw and he spat blood on the floor as his mouth filled with the stuff from a cut on the inside of his cheek.

The man who was doing most of the talking, was now standing in front of Casey. Casey seized his opportunity and without warning headbutted the man before him. He was a little taller than Casey, but that worked to Casey’s advantage as he was pretty confident he had broken the man’s nose. It was a hollow satisfaction. A broken nose was tiny compared to Severide’s life and irritatingly the man didn’t lose his composure at all. He just nodded and the hood was placed back over his head as he was half walked, half dragged out to the van, the hobble not letting him keep up with the pace set by the others.

Twenty minutes later the intelligence unit stormed the warehouse to find the body of a Severide lookalike and a small trace of Casey’s blood on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a two chapter fic and now it's a three chapter one, but there will be lots of comfort in the third chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Severide worries, Casey resolves to rescue himself.

He came to awareness slowly. He was lying on a hard tiled floor and his breathing was shallow but slow and calm. He felt strangely detached from himself as he blinked the world into focus.

He was alone. 

He managed to turn his head a little. He was lying on the floor of a bathroom. The sight of the old fashioned 1970's bathtub sparked some memories for him.

The bath had been full of water and ice, and they had held his head under the water. Repeatedly. His hands had been bound behind his back then. They weren't now. Why not?

They had asked him again and again where Katya's notebook was. He couldn't tell them. He didn't know, and he had stopped trying to answer.

People often talked about drowning as a peaceful way to go. People didn't know what they were talking about. He had never been in more pain than when he was struggling to draw in desperate breaths between being plunged into ice water.

He thought about Hallie and Severide and Andy and wondered why he was still alive. Surely his friends merited survival more than he did, and yet he was the one to survive. It felt utterly unjust. Hadn't the Bulgarians realised by now he couldn't tell them anything? He had never wanted to die, but right now, in this detached, floaty state Casey wondered what it would be like to just slip away.

“Take a breath.” A voice that sounded a lot like Hallie's seemed to whisper in his ear. “A deep breath, or you'll develop pneumonia” He knew the logic behind it. And it sounded like Hallie, who he loved so he tried.

Casey regretted it instantly, fire burned around his chest and he was in agony. His breathing hissed shallowly through his teeth as he tried not to scream. It seemed important that he not scream.

CPR. Casey realised. They hadn't beaten him physically, not much at least, but they had been waterboarding him, and he couldn't track what had happened between the waterboarding and lying on this floor. They weren't going to let him go and they weren't going to let him die. He had to get out of there.

The floaty detached feeling had dissipated with the stab of pain through his ribs and he had always been a doer. He very carefully assessed his body and looked around the room. His broken ribs were agony and his jaw throbbed insistently but he didn't seem to have any other injuries. As long as he didn't take a deep breath, he would be able to move. The hobble was no longer tied around his ankles and his hands were unbound. Given how careful the gang had been Casey supposed they hadn't expected him to wake up. Looking around the small bathroom he took in the door and a window above the basin.

He would be surprised if he had been left alone in this place, where ever this place was, but if they thought he was locked in they might not be guarding the outside. He was shirtless, and shoeless but he was still wearing his pants. Maybe his state of undress would encourage a good Samaritan to let him use their phone, or call the police for him. If he managed to get out that was. 

He should move quickly, before they came back because he was in no shape to fight them off now.

As he attempted to get up into a sitting position, Casey was forced to admit that quickly wasn't happening right now, but he would still be as swift as he was able. He painfully lifted himself into a standing position, letting the wall of the room take some of his weight and carefully keeping his breathing shallow but even. He walked as quietly as he could to the window and pushed it open. There was a security latch that stopped it opening more than a few inches but some bloodied nails and a few tense minutes later he was able to get it to open. The window, fully opened was maybe two feet high, and a foot wide, if that, but it would have to do. He stuck his head out the window, leaning awkwardly over the sink that was positioned in front of it.

He was on the first floor, which wasn't as useful as the ground floor, but it did mean that there was a drop of only one story before he hit the ground. Unfortunately the ground was concrete which meant he would be unable to just jump and roll hoping for the best but within reach was a drainpipe, which, if his luck held, he would be able to climb down.

A morbid thought arose in the back of his head, what if his broken rib punctured a lung before he was able to get help? He pushed it down. He had to get help. He had to tell the police what had happened to Severide, otherwise how would his family get any closure? If this organisation was as good as Antonio said they were then they would be good at disposing of bodies too. He forced himself to focus on his current situation, to stay in the moment. He couldn't think of what had happened now or the grief would overwhelm him.

Casey put his arms over his head and made his upper body as narrow as possible as he squeezed it out of the small window, his knees balanced precariously on the narrow windowsill. He pulled in his abs and reached sideways until he managed to grip the drainpipe firmly. Now came the really tricky bit. He pushed himself out the window and swung one leg down to try and make contact with the drainpipe. He managed, but he wasn't sure how successful he had been as he tried to grip the drainpipe between his bare feet.

His descent wasn't graceful or comfortable but at least it was short. Once on the ground he picked a direction and started walking as quickly as he was able. He didn't recognise the streets around him, and he felt like he knew Chicago pretty well but he kept moving. At some point he would see someone or somewhere he could ask for help. He would. He had to find help before the gang members realised he was missing and came looking. Then he spotted it, a small bodega that looked as though it had seen better days.

He slipped through the door and realised that he could see the entire shop and that he was the only “customer”. He closed it behind him, locked it, flipped the sign to say 'closed' and slipped behind some shelving, just out of sight of the door. He looked at the cashier and questioned the actions he had just taken. It was a young latina girl who looked about 16 and terrified. There was at least five feet of space between them and a counter and Casey pressed himself back into the shelves behind him to try and back away further. He used his lieutenant voice, as best he could when he was hoarse and kept coughing.

“I can see you're scared, but please, I need your help. I won't come any closer to you, but I need you to call the police. My name is Matthew Casey and I was kidnapped. I've just escaped. You need to tell dispatch to contact the Intelligence unit and Sergeant Voight and tell them where I am and to come pick me up. Can you do that?” Casey kept his voice as calm as possible but he was terrified. He needed this girl to call the police. If she didn't he didn't know what he would do. Or let him use the phone, but as scared as the kid was, he didn't want her to think he was any kind of threat.

Luckily she nodded and pulled out her cell phone, dialling 911 and relaying the information Casey had given her, plus the address of the shop.

“They want to talk to you.” She said, holding out the phone. Not wanting to push his luck Casey took it and answered the dispatchers questions as succinctly as he could, given all the coughing. He was informed the closest unit was being diverted to his location. He hung up, handed the phone back to the girl and retreated. She looked less surprised but still extremely wary. Casey had always been good at bonding with kids when they were victims, but context was important and he didn't think friendly words from a half naked, shoeless man who had just walked into her shop and locked them inside would be received as well as from a firefighter coming to rescue her.

The wait was tense and felt long but he could see from the clock above the counter that it was less than five minutes in total before a police car showed up. Casey unlocked the door, contact details were taken from the girl, and within moments he was in the back of the car, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders being taken to Chicago Med. It was surreal and strangely anticlimactic. He couldn't let himself think to deeply about the last few days, but he was insistent about talking to the intelligence unit, which would apparently meet him at Med. He wasn't given a choice about his destination, he would have rather gone to the station to give his statement first but the two patrol officers had taken one look at the rather impressive bruise stretching across his chest, his repeated coughing and his shivering figure and made the decision for him.

It was over. Casey tried to believe. It was over.

It had been nearly forty eight hours since they had discovered that Casey was missing and Severide felt as though he was losing his mind. It was bringing back uncomfortable memories of when his sister had been kidnapped but somehow this was worse. This gang was organised, far reaching, and had already proved their ruthlessness with the body that had been discovered. His jacket would be salvageable, but he was not sure he wanted to wear it again, not with all the new memories that would now be attached.

He had turned up to shift but had been made aware by Boden that if there was any sign at all that what was going on was getting in the way of his judgement on a call, he would be sent home. Dawson was being insufferable. He liked the woman, but she was biting the head off of anyone who said the wrong thing and it was making it impossible to put the Casey situation out of his mind.

If he was being honest with himself, he was doing the same thing but at least he wasn't seeking out company. Everyone was worried about Casey. Hermann was acting Lieutenant on Truck today which had it's pros and cons. The older man could definitely let his emotions get the better of him but the well being of the rest of the Truck company was probably higher without a sub being brought in.

If Casey was still missing next shift...

He hated to be so pessimistic but he knew from the cautious words Erin was sharing with him that if Casey was still missing next shift there was a good chance he wasn't coming back. That was unacceptable. After Shay died, Matt had stepped up, completely, and supported him for months, a calm steady presence that was always there. Then Casey nearly died after the head injury. That had been horrendous for a few hours, then he was out of surgery, and even though they didn't initially know if he would be able to return to active duty, they knew he would most likely live.

This was infinitely worse. Whatever Casey was going through, it wasn't under the supervision of Doctors who would do everything possible to keep him alive. He was in the hands of psychopaths who were probably torturing him, and may have already killed him and even if they hadn't...

Casey wasn't in a great place. He was hiding it but Severide could tell. When he wasn't at the Firehouse he was working the construction gig at the club, he wasn't coming to Molly's as often and he had drawn back into himself more than was comfortable. And right now he probably believed Severide was dead.

If he was already depressed, however mildly, in an extreme situation, if Casey felt guilty for his apparent death, and he knew Casey well enough to know he would feel the weight of it, there was a risk he might stop fighting to escape or survive the situation. 

Severide had never been particularly religious, certainly not the way his mom was, but he did hold an abstract belief in a higher power and he found himself praying for Casey to hold on. He just didn't have a clear idea who he was praying to.

A sharp knock sounded on the door of his office and he looked up to see Chief Boden standing there.

“Chief. What can I do for you?” Severide asked, trying to pre-empt any barely disguised enquiries about his emotional state and whether or not he was fit to be on the job today. 

“I've just received a call from Detective Lindsey. Casey has been found, alive, and transported to Chicago Med. Keep your radio on but feel free to take squad down and meet him there. Apparently he rescued himself so he can't be injured too badly. The first thing he told the officers who picked him up was that you had been murdered and he wasn't very convinced by Halstead and Lindsay telling him you were still alive so get over there, as sharply as you can without using the sirens, and let him see for himself.”

Boden still looked worried, but some of the tension he had been carrying for days had gone.

“Casey's alive.” Severide repeated.

“Alive and needing to see his best friend, so get a move on Lieutenant.” Boden smiled. Then Severide was summoning squad, and Hermann was gathering Truck as they made their way to the hospital, hoping that a call wouldn't divert them before they got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please, please, please leave a comments. Comments make me feel satisfied, and fulfilled and motivated to write more. There's only one chapter to go now and it will be filled with lots of gooey comfort and the more people comment, the more quickly I will get around to writing it.


	4. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey has managed to escape his captors, but is his ordeal over yet?

Severide jogged up to Chicago Med from where Squad pulled up, knowing he would have to slow to a walk once he got to the hospital itself but needing to see Casey and make sure he was okay. Erin was waiting at the entrance to meet him as Squad pulled away to find a parking space.

“Is he okay? What happened to him?” Severide demanded as he reached her.

“He’s going to be fine, physically.” Erin immediately said. She was using her calming professional police voice, the type she used to speak to victims of crimes and it grated.

“Is he on his own?” Severide asked.

“Yes, because he asked to be. I’ve taken the first part of his statement but he clearly needed a break. I’ve left a couple of uniformed officers outside his room but he’s been through a lot. You need to be gentle with him.” 

“I can do that.” Severide insisted as they walked towards where Casey was being treated.

“Kelly before you go in there you should know something.” Erin said, not meeting his eye.

“What.” 

“I don’t think he believed me when I told him you were unhurt and the gang never had you. As far as he’s concerned the last time he saw you he watched you die. He’s exhausted, in pain, and on some medication for it so his responses might be a little less guarded than usual. You need to be prepared for that and take it in your stride. I don’t know him well but from the little I do know he is quite a private person and doesn’t often let people in. Can you be the person he needs right now?” Erin’s voice was serious, but they didn’t stop walking as she said this and Kelly resolved to put his own needs aside to be there for Matt.

As they approached the room it was obvious where Matt was, there was only one room on the corridor with two police officers standing outside. The pair nodded to Erin as she opened the door.

“Someone’s here to see you, Matt.” She announced as she ushered Kelly inside.

Severide thought he was prepared for how bad Casey would look and while externally he didn’t look any worse than expected, it was still jarring to see him in a hospital bed. His face was bruised and he was wearing an oxygen mask, but he was propped most of the way up against the pillows, and he looked fairly alert.

Upon catching sight of Severide all the colour drained from Casey’s face, making the bruising even more apparent, and his respiration rate went up slightly.

“Hey.” Severide said, trying to keep the interaction as normal as possible.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Erin stated as she left the room, leaving the two men alone. Casey waited for her to leave before pulling his oxygen mask away from his mouth.

“They made me think they’d killed you. I thought I watched you die. What happened?” 

Casey’s voice was hoarse and painful sounding.

“They never had me. They killed a homeless person who looked a bit like me. I was at Molly’s and someone stole my jacket. Later when they found the body the intelligence unit worked out what had happened, but I’m okay. I’ve spent the last couple of days worried out of my mind for you but I’m okay.” Severide rushed in to reassure Casey, who had probably heard all of this explanation from Erin but who was looking very relieved to hear it from Severide. 

Severide placed his hand firmly on Casey’s shoulder and Casey relaxed just a little more. Feeling him there and solid clearly helped even more.

“What happened to you, bud?” The affectionate nickname slipping out before Severide could stop it. He was painfully aware of the fight they had had before Matt vanished but there didn’t seem to be any lingering awkwardness. “Why are you on oxygen?” Direct questions like those probably weren’t the most tactful way to deal with a trauma victim but Kelly had to know.

“They’re worried about secondary drowning, and I have a broken rib, so it will be at least six weeks before I can work in the field.”

Kelly put the pieces together quickly.

“They waterboarded you?”

Matt’s tense expression was all the confirmation that Kelly needed. If they waterboarded him then the broken rib could easily be from CPR. They had killed his best friend and brought him back just to torture him some more.

“Severide, maybe you should sit down.” Matt’s voice was still hoarse but it cut through as he took on the caretaker role from his hospital bed.

“Why?”

“Because you look like you’re about to fall over or punch something and I don’t think the hospital staff would be happy with either.”

Kelly drew in a sharp breath before taking a seat on one of the uncomfortable chairs by Matt’s bed. He made careful eye contact from his new position of looking up at his friend.

“You’re going to be okay.” He stated.

“Yes.” Matt replied, giving Kelly the space he needed to come down from the adrenaline.

“But you’re not okay yet?”

“Not with an oxygen mask and a broken rib, but I will be soon. I just want to get back to work and put this all behind me.” Matt explained. Kelly looked at him and shook his head in disbelief.

“How the hell are you this calm.” Kelly asked. Matt burst out laughing, but quickly clamped down on it as he winced in pain. Kelly was on his feet with a supporting hand on Matt’s shoulder in seconds as he coughed, spluttered and caught his breath.

“Don’t make me laugh, that really hurt.” Casey gasped.

“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh, I promise. I generally don’t get how you’re this calm right now given where you’ve been the last few days.” 

Casey rested his head back on the pillow and looked into the middle distance for a long moment, as he worked out what to say. Neither he nor Severide were particularly good at talking about their feelings, but they had ways of talking without the pressure. Their cigar chats were one of them, it was easier to talk while doing something else and not making eye contact and he needed the space from the pain of Severide’s worry. Talking was needed now, but detail could wait.

“I’m on pain meds.” Casey said finally. “And I don’t think it’s hit me yet. When I woke up I was on my own so I had to take the opportunity to escape, and I was running on adrenaline until I arrived here and…” Matt cut off suddenly and swallowed hard, willing the burning pin pricks at the back of his eyes which threatened tears to go away. When they abated he spoke again. “You were dead. For however long they had me, how long has it been?”

“Two days.”

“Right. For two days you were dead, and I was sure they were going to kill me, and it was hell and now I’m safe and you’re here and definitely alive, and it just makes the last couple of days feel like a bad dream. Like it didn’t really happen. Might not be the healthiest way to process what happened, but it’s where I’m at right now. I’ll have my head back on straight by the time I’m back at work.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. For all the hell of the last two days Severide had at least been able to hold onto the hope that Matt was alive, and would come back to him. Matt, as far as he was concerned, had witnessed two murders, one of a girl he cared about, and the second of his best friend. Going through that grief, alone and afraid, must have been awful.

“Well you’d better get used to me being alive because I know what you’re like when you’re injured and I’m going to have my hands full keeping you still enough to heal.” Kelly said eventually.

A nurse and a few orderlies swept into the room and started organising the IV and oxygen so Casey could move to a wheelchair.

“What’s going on?” Kelly asked.

“CT scan.” One of the orderlies replied in a dry, bored tone.

“You hit your head?” Severide asked, a new fear coming to the front, knowing how dangerous it would be for Casey to have another brain injury eighteen months after the first.

“I didn’t hit my head. I don’t need a CT scan.” Casey stated, looking very irritable but not wanting to cause too much trouble for the medics.

“You don’t believe you hit your head. But there are periods of time you can’t remember and given your TBI last year we can’t be too careful.” The nurse announced as she efficiently helped Matt off the bed and into the wheelchair. Severide swooped in to support Casey’s other side, not that he seemed to need it. “The CT is precautionary.” She added for Severide’s benefit.

“It’s okay.” Casey said, although from the expression of utter misery on his face it was anything but. “Sooner they confirm there’s nothing wrong with my head, the sooner I can get out of here. You can reassure the rest of the house I’m not dying.” 

Severide watched them exit the room and then went to reassure the waiting companies that Casey would indeed be fine.

The broad reaction was relief that Casey should make a full recovery, but the worry in the eyes of his men was not alleviated. These were firefighters and they knew the intimate and crippling affect trauma could have. 

A quiet conversation with Boden later, and it was decided that Severide should stay at the hospital for the next few hours so he could keep Matt company and ensure that he felt safe. Dawson looked more than a little sore that she hadn't been chosen for this honour but she was a candidate and she and Casey had been broken up more than they'd been together over the last few months. Christie and Violet had been informed and were going to arrive when Violet finished school so there was a likelihood that Severide would come back to the firehouse in the evening to finish the overnight portion of his shift. Whether Matt was released tonight or tomorrow he would not be left alone. Either Christie and Violet would bring him home with them or Severide would pick him up in the morning, with the hope that at least a few members of Firehouse 51 would be able to visit before the next shift.

As for Boden, he was just relieved that while he would need to bring in a relief Lieutenant to cover Casey’s shifts, it would be a temporary assignment just until his rib healed.

The few hours until Christie and Violet arrived were tricky. Casey had returned from his CT exhausted and slightly nauseous having had an adverse reaction to the contrast used, but with a clean bill of health as far as his head was concerned. Severide had encouraged him to rest as much as possible but what little sleep he was able to grab was light and fitful. He would barely have his eyes closed for twenty minutes before jerking awake, a haunted expression in his eye before managing to catch sight of Severide or hear his voice. 

A reassurance that he was alive became Severide’s repeated refrain.

At one point Cindy Hermann showed up with a bag of fresh clothes for Casey, who immediately tried to sit up to greet her, forgetting how painful his rib was as he immediately had to lie back down.

Cindy fussed over him, running a gentle hand through his hair, as Casey tried his best to hide how much pain he was in and put on a brave face for her. She stayed about ten minutes, she needed to pick up her children from school and she could see how much the conversation exhausted Casey but she left with promises to bring over a fresh batch of brownies the next day as a bribe for Casey to stay in bed until he healed.

The visit was short and exhausting, but Casey seemed to be in a slightly better mood because of it. Nothing about this situation was normal but Cindy showing up to fuss over him if he was injured was something that had been happening on and off since he was a candidate and was comfortably familiar. 

Casey rested back against his pillows after Cindy left, feeling slightly shaky physically but emotionally on firmer ground than he had since Katya had shown up at his apartment. He turned his head again to look at Severide; feeling slightly ashamed of how much he needed the reassurance that Severide was alive and unhurt.

He should be relieved that Severide was okay. And he was, of course he was, but mixed in with the relief was shame and hurt that he had been tricked. The Severide substitute he had watched the execution of had been at the other end of the warehouse but he should still have known. He should have recognised the discrepancies in how the person moved. And was it wrong to feel such relief when an innocent person still died? Was he being selfish when his disappearance must have brought back the memories of Katie’s disappearance all those months ago and Severide looked as though he had been through hell.

The really frightening thing was he had been so sure he would die in that small room, that he had been ready to give up. If not for the coincidence of being left alone at a point his captors expected him to remain unconscious, he would have died in that small room and part of him would have been relieved. When had he become so selfish? He had people who cared about him; he would have hurt Christie, and Violet, and Dawson and everyone at 51 if he had given up and died but he was willing to do so to avoid the grief of losing Severide? Severide who wasn’t even dead. Here he was alive, in a hospital full of people who had told him how brave he was to survive his ordeal and escape and he had never felt like more of a coward. 

He looked to Severide again, who was watching him with a patient, sympathetic expression. Patience was not a quality Severide excelled at. In fact it wasn’t a quality either of them excelled at, but Severide was putting his own needs aside to be there for him. Casey felt so guilty he thought he might be sick. That could be the nausea which was an after effect of the contrast but those had mostly passed.

Detective Lindsay walked in to get the rest of Casey’s statement.

“Ready to continue your statement?” She asked with a gentle smile. “Hey Kelly.”

Casey nodded.

“I can ask Kelly to leave if you like, or if you want his support he can stay. It’s up to you.” Casey glanced again at Severide who looked intensely curious as much as he was trying to play it off as nonchalance to avoid adding any pressure.

“He can stay.” Casey answered. He couldn’t see himself explaining what happened any more often than he had to and it might be easier if he and Kelly were on the same page about it. Also he had nearly had a panic attack last time when he described watching Severide’s murder, he couldn’t get much further with his statement after that, only managing until he was in the car.

Detective Lindsey nodded and took a seat next to Severide, taking a moment to set up a recording device.

“You’ve given us descriptions of the men in the warehouse. Did you see anyone else at any point?” She started

“No.”

“And do you think you would be able to work with a police sketch artist to help put together a picture?”

“Not for all of them, but for the two who I saw most often, yes I could.”

“After you left the warehouse, what happened.”

“They put me in a car, in the backseat and drove for about thirty minutes. At the other end, I was pulled out and taken straight into a house. They knew exactly what they were doing, it made me think this might not have been the first time they had taken someone hostage.”

“Can you tell what kind of car it was?” 

Casey shook his head lightly, his lips drawing in tighter and tension beginning to build. Severide could tell he was holding back an unpleasant response.

“I was blindfolded. I didn’t see the car.” The words were sharper than they should have been. Detective Lindsay didn’t immediately respond, giving Casey a little space to calm back down. Severide wanted to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder to help ground him but he didn’t think that would be appreciated right now, Casey hated to be thought of as weak.

“I stepped up into it rather than down so I’m guessing some kind of SUV or pick up. Three adults could fit on the backseat. I can’t give you any more details than that.” Casey eventually added.

“Thank you, that's helpful.” Detective Lindsay said politely. She was probably lying, Casey thought, because she made him angry and wanted him to think the extra details were helpful, but he appreciated the effort.

“What happened when you got to the house?”

“They took me straight up a flight of stairs. One story not two and into the bathroom. They removed the blindfold when I arrived but not the handcuffs. The bath was full of water and ice.”

From the treatment for secondary drowning, Severide had expected something like this. He cared for Erin, but at that moment he felt frustrated and angry that she was about to make Casey say something that was clearly implied. Erin was absolutely professional as she continued.

“I know this is hard, but I need you to say what happened in your own words.”

“They kept asking where Katya’s notebook was. Never anything else, just the location of the notebook. They assumed I was working with her. From their questions I don’t think they knew I was working with the police but they may have known and not cared. They didn’t take any precautions to stop me seeing their faces. They didn’t want to know how much I knew about their operation. I didn’t think I would be able to leave alive.” Casey was using a dry, informational tone. He was stone faced, trying to get through the statement as painlessly as possible.

“In between asking where Katya’s notebook was they would force my head under the surface of the bathwater so I couldn’t breathe. It was painful. But I had only just learned of the notebook’s existence and didn’t know where she stashed it. I couldn’t answer their questions even if I had wanted to so I just stayed quiet or said that I didn’t know.” 

“You were missing for around thirty eight hours. Was this the only time they interrogated you?” Casey appreciated Detective Lindsay’s effort to use neutral language but it didn’t make much difference. He shook his head.

“And can you tell me any more about these interrogation sessions and what happened in between? Any detail, however small, could be helpful.”

Casey nodded then started listing off facts as nonchalantly as possible.

“I can’t tell you how long each session lasted. I couldn’t keep track of time. The only thing they asked about was the notebook. Nothing else. They left the water in the bathtub between sessions but added new ice each time. There were four sessions that I remember. I was handcuffed almost the entire time they had me. After the first three sessions they cuffed me to a radiator, gagged me with cloth and put a hood over my head. When I was left there on my own I sometimes heard voices from downstairs but they were usually muffled and the few occasions they were not they were in a language I didn’t speak. I didn’t hear anything helpful.”

Casey became aware that his hands were trembling badly. He glanced at the jug of water and empty glass on the bedside table but decided he would rather stay thirsty than spill water down himself.

Detective Lindsay was looking at him with pity.

“We can take a break if you need to.” She said. It was the same tone she had used before but Casey was through procrastinating. He just wanted to get the police statement over with.

“No it’s fine.” Casey said shortly, glancing at Severide once again to reassure himself that Severide was there and alive. He knew what he was about to say would make his friend angry. With the people who took him, not with him. It didn’t make it any easier to see when he had to get through this.

“As far as I could tell the fourth session was longer than the others. The two men who held me were angrier than they had been before. I think something must have happened in between the third and fourth session because it was a shorter gap than it had been the other two times and they were less focused, more desperate.” 

Casey swallowed painfully. He twisted his hands in the slightly scratchy hospital blanket to hide the shaking, taking a deep breath to steady himself. His oxygen mask had been switched to a nasal cannula an hour earlier. Perhaps he should have had a drink. He still didn’t want to spill water down himself so he just pushed through.

“I don’t remember the fourth session ending. The last thing I remember was my head being held under the water for longer than normal and being unable to breath. The next awareness I had must have been midmorning today. I woke up, and I was locked in the room, but my shirt was missing and for the first time since they took me from my apartment my hands weren’t tied behind my back.”

Casey felt Detective Lindsey and Severide’s eyes burning into him as he focused his gaze firmly on a spot near the end of his bed and continued in the most professional tone he could manage.

“I assessed my condition as best I could under the circumstances and realised that at least one of the ribs was broken on the upper right hand side of my chest. From what I can work out I believe I probably got the injury from CPR.”

A sharp short inhalation came from Severide. Casey knew he couldn’t see his best friends hurt and finish his statement.

“I was able to open the bathroom window, and I climbed down a drainpipe on the outside of the building until I reached the ground. I didn’t recognise the area I was in, as far as I could tell it was a part of Chicago I had never visited. I started walking until I came to a convenience store. At that point I went inside, locked the door, and convinced the girl behind the counter to call the police.”

The tightness in his chest was beginning to ease very slightly. The hard part was over. Now he just had to finish off his statement.

“She looked terrified. I think I must have frightened her but I tried to be as unthreatening as possible. Shortly after that a police unit showed up and I came here.”

The room was quiet, the general sounds of a busy hospital slipped in from beyond it but they were muffled.

“Thank you, Matt.” Detective Lindsay said gently. “You’ve given us plenty of information. I need to warn you there is a chance you will be called to testify, and hopefully we’ll need you to look at some mugshots but you need to focus on recovering now. You’ve done more than enough and I’m sorry your involvement put you in any danger. We’ll leave a protective detail with you until we can apprehend the people responsible.”

Things were wrapping up now.

“One last question. If we took you back to the convenience store we picked you up from, do you think you could point out the house you were held in from a patrol car?”

Casey thought for a moment and tried to picture the house.

“Maybe. I can’t promise anything. I didn’t see the house when I arrived and I only looked at it very briefly when I left. I think I should be able to find the street it was on, but beyond that I don’t know.” 

“Thank you for your time, Lieutenant. I’ll leave you in Severide’s capable hands.” 

Detective Lindsay left the room, exchanging a couple of words with the officers posted outside. 

Finally Matt looked back at Kelly. He was hunched over in his seat, his elbows on his knees and his chin digging into his clasped hands. His eyes looked suspiciously red. To suspect the broken rib was from CPR was sickening enough. To have that theory all but confirmed was soul destroying.

“You okay?” Matt asked, gently. Kelly shook his head sharply.

“They killed you.” He said, his voice filled with grief and fury.

“I’m alive now. I’m here. I’m safe.” Matt said. Taking on the role of the reassuring friend, the one Kelly had been doing all afternoon. Kelly lurched to his feet and walked around the small room.

“They murdered you.” Kelly spoke again, his breathing ragged and a couple of red hot tears escaping. He then turned and met Matt’s gaze with blue eyes brimming with fear, anger and grief. For the first time that day Matt held the gaze without flinching and offered Kelly his strength.

“It’s over, and I’m alive and so are you. Without turning back the clock that’s about as good as I could hope for right now.” Matt stated. Kelly clearly needed something more. Matt opened his arms slightly, inviting a hug and then his arms were full of Kelly, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed and holding him for dear life, needing to reassure himself that Matt was alive and solid and here and likely to stay that way. If Matt was honest he needed this hug just as much as Kelly did so he ignored the twinge of pain from his rib that broke through his pain medication and held on.

They were going to be okay.

Not today, but soon.

It was over and they were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so that chapter took me a while to write. Normally when I post a story or a chapter, I type it out in one session, and post it immediately. I work as a creative so for me fanfiction is a chance to be creative without nitpicking every detail. This chapter not only took me three separate sessions but also doubled the length of the story.
> 
> I have really loved writing this story so please leave a comment if you enjoyed it. I do have some ideas for a sequel that would cover Casey's recovery and how that affects his relationships with Severide, Hermann, Violet, Christie and possibly Dawson as well so if I get enough feedback here I might write it. Let me know if you'd be interested.


End file.
